


The Birth of a Would-be-King

by CandyassGoth



Category: Silent Hill, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Bad try at twisting Loki as Alessa, Horror, Loki Has Issues, Loki falls from the Bifrost into a Silent Hill world, Loki-centric, M/M, Major Issues, Mpreg, Mpreg Birth, Odin's A+ Parenting, Other, Poor Loki, Rape/Non-con Elements, Silent Hill - Freeform, Tell me if I need to tag something else, Thanos helped mess Loki up too ok, Violence, as well as key elements such as the Great Knife and Pyramid Head into Loki-centric views, but yeah, ish, not just Odin, oh and did I mention Pyramid Head fucking Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyassGoth/pseuds/CandyassGoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween fic</p><p>There was always a darkness inside of Loki. And it took the form of a Jotun.</p><p>Hel was not what he thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birth of a Would-be-King

**Author's Note:**

> I have no other excuse for this other than its Halloween time again, and I ship Loki with everything. Red Pyramid/Pyramid Head is really hot and he deserves some Loki ass.
> 
> So, warnings in tags. Pre Avengers, Post Thor. Nothing makes sense. Written straight out of my head. Why did I write this. loki and azog next.
> 
> I apologize for errors, not properly beta read im a working woman with 9 kids 3 jobs and a million fandoms ok
> 
> PLEASE read tags and be wary.
> 
> _I apologise for errors_

**The Birth of a Would-be-King**

"No Loki."

Everything leading up to that moment had shaved off little by little what was left of Loki's heart, but it was those two simple words that severed it completely. Severed his hope. Severed his love. Severed his hold…

He would never be what Odin wanted, he _knew_ that now. He never had been, and he never _could_ be. Everything, all of it, was for naught. He was the black sheep of the _family_ , and he was unwanted. Thor was Odin's son, his heir, his perfect golden child, and Loki was the _extra_ one. The odd one. The _wrong_ one.

It made sense, everything had made sense when he learnt of his true heritage.

He was Jotun, he was not Asgardian nor an Odinson, but hearing those two words made it real. He had tried to prove he could be as worthy an Asgardian prince as Thor whilst Odin slept, he had done what he thought he would be praised for, but Odin still deemed him _wrong_. He had done it all smartly, and he would have succeeded had Thor not interrupted. But he sees now that he would never satisfy his father, for he was never truly his son.

Nothing he had ever done was good enough because he did not belong. He was just a pawn, stolen off enemy grounds and locked up until he could be made useful. Thor hadn't even known and yet he had treated him as a subordinate. All those years Thor's mere gut had known he did not belong, that he was part of that vile race of blue skinned monsters. Odin had always loved Thor more, Thor had always seen him inferior and he's entire entity was just _different_. He was an unwanted incorrect object that failed to fulfil a base goal.

He was no longer needed. No longer wanted. His false place in his false family was over.

"No Loki."

No Loki.

_No Loki_

So he let go. Odin proved what he suspected all along, and he wasn't about to beg for his approval. So he let go. Thor called after him, reaching as far as he could, but it was too late. Loki was tired of trying.

The fall seemed almost endless, sailing through one black abyss after another, sucked into one and spat out the next. A continuous loop, whether imagined or real, never-ending. He had no will to sob, to see, to care; he wanted to perish. All those years living in the shade of Thor's greatness might have even prepared him for the eternal darkness he was succumbing to. It was peaceful, quiet and empty.

But it wasn't for long.

Loki only realized a change when suddenly there was flavour in his mouth—chalky and bitter. He cracked open his weary eyes, tired from resisting tears, and saw he was in for a suddenly landing. He tensed up, an extremely stupid response, and tried to brace himself for the ground that was soaring towards him. The air was misty, decreasing in volume toward the landing.

Seconds before he made impact he shut his watery eyes, curling his head into his arms in a last attempt. He didn't quite know why he bothered, but when he landed and survived, he couldn't help feeling a lingering surge of self preservation.

His landing was most odd, to say the least. It wasn't bone crushing as he expected, and the surface he landed upon was uneven and moveable, nor was it hard enough to actually injure. But when he opened his eyes to the rancid smell creeping onto his tongue, he wished he was still falling.

All around him were decaying bodies, grey skinned and blue-veined. He had fallen into what looked like a sea of corpses, stretching out to what must have been the aftermath of a battlefield. He scrambled up awkwardly, having only place to stand on their bodies, panicking further when he realised they were Asgardians. The royal army, in fact, he recognised their emblems and uniforms.

Frantically Loki tried to get away from the heap he was standing upon. He struggled through their sprawled limbs, tripping here and there as he was caught on a random buckle or when his boot slipped in a black slosh that looked to be oozing from their battle wounds.

Then a hand grabbed his ankle, and he shrieked. One of the men below him was holding on for dear life, looking up at him with black eyes, veins creeping up from his neck across his face as though he had been poisoned by some creature's venom. The man—corpse?—opened its brittle mouth and called out to him with a strangled wail. The very sound sent Loki's skin prickling. He had never seen or heard such a thing, he didn't even know what was going on—!

Loki twisted and kicked his leg until he was free, then scrambled away as fast as he could. He left the man behind, wheezing and wailing after him as if he could be helped, as Loki would _want_ to help. He kept a sharp eye out for others of the kind, but made it to solid ground without another incident.

Panting, he took a moment to look around, swirling this way and that in the grey air. Everything was so grey, and he could only see ten metres or so ahead through it. It tasted foul, like death. And darkness.

He looked at his hands. They were smeared in the black slosh that the corpses were covered in. It did not smell like blood, at all, and from his days besides Thor he knew what blood smelt like over many periods, red or black. Suddenly it felt like his hands were burning, and he looked around with the weak hope for water.

Predictably there wasn't any. There wasn't anything but piles of closely heaped bodies of men he tried not to recognise. Where was he? What was this? Standing where he was gave no answer, so he headed forward blindly. There were no sounds but the tapping of his boots on stone, but it brought him no relief. It was far too silent, as if _kept_ so. But by who? Or by what? What place was this? The hair on his neck stood every time he stopped, lost, so he wandered on, hands to his chest as if they were broken.

Perhaps he had died? Perhaps this was the Underworld? While Valhalla would have a formal welcome for new comers Loki always expected Hel to be the same, it was only logical. He'd known for a while now he wasn't going to make it to Valhalla, and he'd made peace with that. Who wanted to be surrounded by multiple Thor's anyway, eating drinking and repeating tales of their brutish victory for eternity? He'd prepared himself for this outcome, but it was not as he imagined it. Where was everyone else? Someone to at least tell him where he was? He looked around for the man he encountered earlier—was he the welcome? Perhaps he was an example? An example of what…of what he would become? Did those in Hel waste away until they become like that creature? Was this his punishment?

He didn't know how much damage he had done to Jötunheimr, Thor could have stopped him just in time, but maybe it was the thought that counted. But what did it matter, the Jotuns were beasts, weren't they? He had been doing the Asgardian thing, he would have made Odin proud, he would have—

But he didn't. That is all that mattered. Odin condemned him…it was Odin's doing this. Loki stood in shock as his heart took off. He had killed all those being for nothing, not in honour, for Odin passed his judgement, and he wasn't worthy. Maybe Odin even cursed him, because this just did not look right.

So this would be it then? He would roam this grey world until he rotted away, body and mind? Was he supposed to repent for the lives he tried to take, the ones he did? His _father's_? None of it was fair, Odin and Thor had so much more blood on their hands, and yet here he was, already damned on his first try.

 _It's because you're Jotun_ , his mind whispered. Did Jotuns go to Valhalla? He had never thought to ask that. Perhaps that was why he was here, not because of his doings, but simply because he was Jotun.

His musings did not answer the picture around him. It looked as if a battle had taken place, but he saw no enemy bodies.

With his confusion cleared a smidgeon Loki tried to focus on where he was. Perhaps he could find a place to hide, and get his bearings. He did not want that creature to rise and seek him out, kill him like he had done—

Suddenly a horn blew. _The battle horn._ Thor loved the sound of it, and Loki hated it purely because of Thor's opinion on it. But there was no time now for lingering on petty things, why was the horn blowing? Where was he?!

His instinct told him to start moving rather than wait out in the open. He was glad when he did though, for the multitude of bodies started to twitch.

Within seconds he was running as fast as he could, his heart soaring into his mouth as the bodies animated, jerking in disturbing ways that left no room for doubt. _This place was cursed_.

Just as Loki was about to scream in fear and frustration, he was so lost, he saw it—he saw the palace. His palace.

Choosing his life—or whatever he was to call it—he flew up the steps, dashing madly through the throne room doors. Once he was in he shoved the doors closed, and the horn blew again. It was louder than was normal, as if coming from everywhere at once. That was when he watched the shadows grow darker in various tones of crimson and black, and far more malevolent. Loki had always been one to hide in the dark, jumping out from corners as a child to scare Thor and spend his time as an adolescent reading books on dark magic and dark creatures. He had always seen himself as a creature of the dark (his Jotunness proved that), but the shivers he got now where nothing of the kind. He felt insignificant among the happenings of this world, when just what felt like moments ago he was a king.

There was no other choice but to keep running. To where he didn't know, but anything to get away from the rapidly corroding walls. Everything was rotting away before his eyes, shadowed gold crumbling away to leave behind corridors of rusty oozing tunnels. The sounds coming from all around were more than enough to double the chill in his spine, cracklings echoing, like a wet bug escaping its shell.

Only when he fell through his personal chamber doors did he realise where he had run to. The room was still, dark and unmoved. He slammed the doors shut and waved his hand around the handles to reinforce the lock—but nothing happened. He tried again frantically, but his magic failed him.

A heavy heap of vulnerability washed over him, frightening him away from the door. He ran around his bed and fell against the wall, squeezing himself between his bed, the wall and a bookcase. He was shaking, badly, and felt ashamed for it, but he was alone and allowed his body to work out the fear raging inside him. His knees met his chest and his shoulders hunched, until he was curled into a ball, but just tall enough to keep a watch on the doors should they open. The crackling sound then returned for a moment, passing over his door, but it continued on until it disappeared.

Loki did not move for hours.

Nothing happened during those hours, nothing other than the very _very_ disturbing sounds of the creatures outside. They wailed and cried, almost in unity. He could hear the _clang_ of their armour as they walked about. Where they searching for him? Or were they just doomed to roaming idly? Or were they guarding something? Perhaps they were a test, a test he passed seeing as he was still alive.

But then the horn blew again, and silence returned. It took another while for Loki to gather the courage to leave his spot and creep to a window. Down below on the ground laid the bodies once more, as if they had never moved.

From there Loki didn't know what to do, other than try force his magic out again. But no matter what spell he tried, _nothing happened_. He was not without magic, he could still feel it thrumming inside him, a powerful force, but he just couldn't access it. It was a distressing find, but nothing he did worked. He tired himself out as he fussed and panicked, and to no avail.

So he crawled back into his spot, and eventually fell asleep.

The next time he woke up he felt more tired than he did when he fell asleep. He remained slumped against the bed until he forced himself up, Norns knows how long later. He tried his magic once more, and accepted disappointment. He felt naked without it, vulnerable and small. For a small while he searched his room and found everything exactly where he left it, only everything was under a constant shadow, himself included. There was something horrible about this place, this nightmare, and he didn't even know where to begin.

The only place to go was out the door. It took him a good few minutes to force himself out, and he breathed in relief at the empty bland corridor. He shut his doors, as if it would preserve the safety it had given him, and edged along back toward the throne room. Unlike outside there was no sign of life—again, if it could be called that—and he meandered the halls alone.

Everything was as it usually was, he felt as if he was on Asgard, only everything lacked…soul. Yes, that was a good word for it. _Soul_. The shining hallways of Asgard were dull and lifeless, the sun was non existent, and everything was desolate. It was almost the complete opposite of what Asgard was usually like.

After a while of aimless wandering he headed up to his parents' chamber. It was one of the only other rooms he had ever truly felt welcomed, at least when Frigga was in there. The doors were ajar, enough so to coax him inside. And when he entered he wished he hadn't.

Frigga was sprawled across the floor, a spear driven into her belly. Her skin was grey and sullen and her dress was stained with what this time looked like blood. Loki's legs wobbled and his heart dropped, making it even more difficult to approach her. Tears filled his eyes as he dropped to his knees besides her, who looked peaceful even in death.

He didn't want her body here, real or not. There was something wrong with this place. She had always been that constant flame in his life, but this place snuffed it out, as if to taunt him. His hand hovered over her grey one, and then he heard the horn blow again.

He flinched back and looked around in alarm, but when he looked back, Frigga was dissolving.

"No!" he cried, scooting back as her body started to bubble away and melt into the black gunk that was still dried over his form. The spear, without its support, fell over into it, splattering Loki's face. He turned away to protect his eyes, and that's when he saw it.

Something was creeping its way towards him from the shadows of the wardrobe his mother loved oh so very much. It had the form of a man, but it possessed swollen limbs, like a corpse left to rot in water. It was pulling itself along the floor with its fat useless hands, while a high pitched rasp echoed out from its mouth.

It was too much, Loki couldn't move. He watched in horror as the squirming grey thing reached his mother's gooey remains, and to his horror, it started to eat it. He couldn't control it, and vomited to the side as the creature spread open its rusty looking mouth over the black slosh, sporting one damaged eye. His choking caught its attention and it reared up on its short arms with horrifying speed, and roared at him.

Choking on more vomit Loki retched and staggered up to his feet, his eyes watery and blinding him in the constant shadow. The only thing that kept him moving was the absolute fear running up and down his spine. He could hear the beast chasing him, its flesh smacking on the ground in its psychotic desire to get him. He raced out the door, too afraid to try to stop and close it. He just ran, and before he knew it he was crying, and very lost.

He skidded into a wall, unable to stop himself manually, he could no longer hear the wraith following him, but it was not time to relax. The hallways were once more rotting and eerie, oozing an evil he couldn't even begin to comprehend. It was dark, but unlike before Loki found no safety in it. He felt as if he was being watched. He wasn't alone in the dark anymore. Perhaps he never had been.

A clicking sound caught his attention. He froze against the wall and listened, but when the sound didn't get closer he followed it. He tried to recall what part of the palace he was in, he was sure this was an area that held no interest to him. Just a bunch of guest rooms, servant store rooms and the harem.

The sound was coming from the harem.

He was nearly there when he realized it, but going backwards held no more comfort than going forwards, he didn't know where was safe, other than his room.

As quickly as his feet could manage he approached the curtains to the room Thor and Fandral loved so much, listening to the _click click_ that came around it. It was in a constant rhythm, but he couldn't picture the source. He knew it was a bad idea to have a look, but he was so far faster than everything he encountered. He knew where his room was from here, perhaps it would still provide him safety.

With shaking hands he parted the curtain enough to peek through, and instantly felt déjà vu.

The room was filled with _things_ standing about. They looked to be female, dressed exactly like whores, chests bare and skirts short and revealing. There was nothing attractive about them, grey and sporting violent wounds filled with the black slosh. Their faces were featureless but for blue veins ridging across their discoloured skin. They were twitching on the spot, one creature closer than the others to what was left of the upturned furniture. Her left hand was banging against a tin plate, her nails claw like, causing the _click click_.

Loki stood as he was, breath held and eyes unblinking. He seemed to be unspotted, but he was terrified to move away and catch their attention. Perhaps they were blind seeing as they had no eyes.

Something had to be done, his arms would eventually start cramping. He drew the curtain back into place as slow as possible, relying on that ominous _click click_.

Sooner than he thought he would be he was in the safe, and he stepped back from the room cautiously. A beat passed and he breathed out in relief. He wasn't sure what to do from there, so he retreated back to his room. His timing was good, just before he made it back the horn blew again, and the rotting mirage crept away, leaving behind a dull version of his home. He retreated into his room, shoving a chair against it just in case. His magic was still denying him, but he wouldn't give up.

The next time he awoke, having fallen asleep only through exhaustion, Loki peeked outside first. Nothing was prowling about and it all looked calm. He tried his magic, a transformation spell to his body, but accepted defeat once more.

Then he heard it, his mother's screams.

He had never before heard Frigga scream, in any manner, but her voice was one of the few he took to heart. He was bounding out of the door before he knew it, turning this way and that as they got louder.

"MOTHER!" he screamed, cupping his hands so it echoed. He didn't wait long before running toward her chambers where he last saw her. When he got there the door was shut and refused to budge, and no amount of his physical force was making a difference. The sounds were definitely coming from inside, but then began to fade away as if moving.

It was a bad idea, he knew it was, but he followed it. The screaming was moving room to room, hall to hall, almost as if it were leading him somewhere. He _knew_ he ought to stop chasing a ghost, but the chance of Frigga truly being here too, in danger, was too risky to ignore. She loved him, and that was enough for him to risk his life.

But eventually he did stop, only when he realised he had ran straight into the dungeons—the _dark_ dungeons. It wasn't the normal dungeons, this place was a hallway to the left and a few ways deeper beneath the palace. It was where the truly heinous criminals were kept. Rapists, child murders, psychotic tormenters. It was a place so shadowed even Loki hadn't dare sneak in. And he didn't want to now.

But Frigga was still screaming, more pained now than ever.

It was baiting him, he realised, and he had already gone too far in. He shouldn't have done this. He had to leave, she would surely understand.

Loki turned around, and ran into a wall. He fell back onto his arse in surprise, eyes wide at the blockage in his way. There should have been a hallway there, and now it was a dead end.

"No no no no _no no_ ," Loki scrambled to his knees, hitting the wall with his palms, _begging_ it to disappear. Frigga was still screaming and his heart was pounding in his chest but the horn was still loud enough to hear. To Torment. To _warn_.

Once more Loki fell back on his rump, startled by the rotting of the wall in front of him. He would have gotten back his bearing soon enough to try plead with the wall, but he was no longer alone.

Loki froze at the acknowledgement of another's presence. As soon as he _felt_ it he _saw_ it, on the corner of his eye, illuminated by a sickly glow coming from a distant torch. He swallowed loudly as an overwhelming heaviness settled across his shoulders, the kind one receives when being watched—and being watched by evil eyes.

 _Never turn your back on an opponent_ , Loki had learned for years. It was a mantra, and a smart one at that, but it gave him no strength for this moment. He turned only through fear, dreading to be too slow should his watcher start moving. But his own movement ignited that of the watcher, and he got a second's notice before it broke into a run. Large and undoubtedly male it roared, swinging its arms wildly as an amateur warrior would when invoking the berserker's power. Loki's stomach dropped and he pushed to his feet with a speed surpassing all his records, and took off in the opposite direction.

The creature roared again, enraged at his escape, but that did not deter it. Loki didn't dare stop or look back, he could _hear_ it chasing him. Its feet sounded huge, stomping in what would definitely be a bone crushing accident. Its bulk didn't seem to slow it down, so Loki tried his best to utilise the corners. He was lithe and had always been quick on his feet, giving him the edge to swirling around sharp turns. But the monster just continued, ramming into the walls and pushing off of them with horrific strength that made up for lost time.

Eventually Loki lost it. He hurried up into a dark corner, desperately trying to control his loud breathing. He held a hand over his mouth, his nostrils flaring in effort as his chest heaved. His legs felt like they were on fire, ready to give up at a moments notice—

But then he was falling backwards too fast to stop himself. His breath disappeared and he landed hard on a cold surface, shaking as the metal door vibrated off the stone beneath him, sending an echo throughout the catacombs. Loki was too disorientated to hear the responding screams of triumph from the creatures in the dark. He groaned, in pain, then screamed as something latched onto his hair and _pulled_.

Instinctively Loki reached up to claw and release himself, but all he managed to do was hold onto the thick wrist of his captor as he was dragged away with frightening strength and speed. He watched in horror through his tears as the dark hallways went by in flashes, kicking his feet and struggling. But the more sanity he lost, the more strength went with it.

He felt incredibly weak as he was yanked this way and that, unable to stop the sob escaping his mouth as the travel came to an end and he was tossed against the wall with crushing force. He crumpled, cradling his head in pathetic protection. Weak weak _weak_. He had always been so weak, unable to fend for himself without the use of his magic and tiny daggers that weighed little to nothing. Without them he was weak, just like Asgard had always told him. He would be on his feet now if he were Thor, throwing punches that actually made a difference. But he was just him, little Loki who failed to bulk up at puberty, despite how hard he had tried in secret. Even his Jotun heritage was failing him. Why was he so small? Jotuns were huge, towering beings, and he was now desperate enough to _want_ their form. _Why was he so small?!_ Because he was a runt, a weak little runtling that belonged no where.

Then he was grabbed again and the monster roared, yanking by the arm. He screamed and fought, trying his best to remember _any_ of his training, but nothing he did made a difference. This was not a living being he was fighting, this was a darkness embodiment.

His captor was the same one from before, his face wide set and horribly mutilated by what could have been a spiked club. It was screaming down into his face with unprecedented anger, the stench from his breath that of death. The monster secured a hand around his throat, its razor like claws digging into his skin. It pulled him beneath it, blocking out all the light until all he could register was its ragged breathing and his lack of such.

He was going to die now, surely. He took the bait and it landed him here, being strangled by some unknown ghoul. He was alone, he was helpless, and he was sad. He wished for Thor to be here in all his arrogant swagger, swinging that might hammer of his and saving him from this monstrosity. He wished he were a proper Jotun so that he didn't have to wish for Thor to save him, so that he could fend for him. He wished for _anything_ to have mercy on him this moment. His legs kicked helplessly as he struggled to suck in air between his grit teeth, tears streaming down his face from his burning eyes as he was choked further into blackness. His captor leaned over into his face, a purple tongue poking out from the yellowed teeth to flick at his salty tears. He squirmed frantically against the fear of being eaten alive, when suddenly the weight above him lifted.

It wasn't a clean break, the monster's nails tore into the flesh of his neck as it held on, making him scream bloody murder as he was released. Loki palmed at his bleeding throat and blinked as hard as he could, straining to see where the nightmare was. And it was still there, only it wasn't alone.

Loki couldn't understand what was happening as his attacker was held above the floor by its own neck, struggling in the hold of a new monster that was twice as tall, and twice as frightening. What was most confusing was the metal helmet the thing—the _man_ —wore.

But there was no time to gawk or speculate, the newcomer seemed to be there with purpose as he held up the growling beast. Then with his other hand he reared up the biggest knife Loki had ever seen in his life, and cut straight through its body. The creature didn't so much as howl, not as much as Loki did as the bottom half dropped and splattered to the floor at his feet, covering him in fresh streaks of thick gunk. The legs twitched as if trying to get up and stand with only its hips, whilst the body still struggled against the hooded nemesis.

Loki, panting loudly now, kicked back until he was against the nearest wall, sobbing in horror as the taller demon dropped his attacker into the puddle of its black guts. Before the beast could so much as look back at him the knife was brought down again, this time slicing it in half down the middle with a sickening squelch. For the second time since being there Loki vomited, messing his hands as he leaned over at the last minute. He tried his best to keep his eyes on the new threat, and he was right for doing so, for he seemed to be the new target.

The metal-headed man had turned to him, one humongous arm drawn back to hold onto the impossibly large blade he wielded. His entire form was proof to Loki that he was stuck in some nightmarish realm, not of the living world. When he moved it was done so with limited mobility, like a troll, taking two exaggerated steps then stopping, his knife so heavy he had to drag it behind him with an ominous protest of metal.

It was almost too late when Loki got to his feet, slipping in his vomit and the black slime in his haste to escape. But his assessment of the man's capability was correct, and by the time he lost him he found his way back upstairs, breathing angrily and crashing into his room. This time he didn't leave the room for as long as his sane mind could allow.

Days after days he sat in his room, the pages of his books blank, his concept of time lost with the sun, and his physical body wasting away. The first tendrils of hunger were creeping in and no matter how much he slept he was not sated. The horn blew in unpredictable rhythms, making it more difficult to find a sense of familiarity, a sense of living. There were screams and howls and roars, but he held his ears shut against it, determined not to fall prey. The hours seemed like days, days weeks, and he felt starved of company, of his sanity, of his soul. He was going to waste away here like all the other ghouls prowling about until he was one of them. Perhaps this would be his station where he would haunt and await his victims.

Hel was not what he thought it would be.

Hungry, ill and exhausted, Loki wished now that he too had perished by the might of that gigantic knife. The very least consolation that it was still a _knife_ , a personal weapon of choice, and not someone's grimy hands. It would have been a swift death. But how did he know he was still alive to be able? The soul could be tormented too, couldn't it?

When Loki finally left the room he had two goals in mind. The first (and only, he had tried to convince himself) was to get that spear he saw in Frigga and Odin's chambers. He would need a larger weapon to defend himself from the demons in this place.

The second reason, the reluctant-but-desperate reason, was to die. He did not drop from the Bifrost to waste that bravery and sweet death on landing here and starving away his body and mind in an ungraceful death. He would retrieve that weapon, or die trying.

He tried to wait for the horn signal to come and go, but the longer he waited the longer to seemed to take, so he just left. His destination was not very far, as the sons of Odin he and Thor had their quarters close to his. He hurried along the walls, looking every which way despite his death wish.

And perhaps it was his death that brought the trouble to him this time.

Skidding around the last corner he stuttered to a halt, coming face to face with a mob mutated bodies. They were all situated in front of the doorway, as if they _knew_ he was coming. The moment they spotted him they shrieked, turning their empty faces his way. Their height was little, reminding Loki of goblins or dwarves, but it was not to be underestimated as they swarmed like bugs, knocking into one another as they reached for him.

It was a gamble, but he needed that weapon. Loki ran towards them and tried to use his speed to his advantage. The creatures were stupid and clumsy, half their heads rotted away. Their hands were small and weak, unable to grab hold of him as he knocked past them. The door opened when he pulled on it, and he slipped in seconds before they followed him in. He backed up, panting, watching the door as the little beasts cried outside.

Safe for the moment he turned for the spear. It was where he last saw it, but the evidence of Frigga was not. He picked it up gingerly, almost expecting it to be a trap. All was still, and he flexed his fingers over the cold iron.

"Loki."

The voice came from beneath the master bed, which was barely a metre away. Loki remained rooted, on one knee, looking up slowly into the darkness.

"I see you."

Loki shook his head. He knew that voice. He hadn't for long, but finding out to whom it belonged made it difficult to forget no matter his attempts at being nonchalant.

Laufey.

"I hear you."

"No…" Loki breathed, getting up and holding out the spear.

"I smell you."

"Be gone!"

"I _am_ you,"

Loki screamed as he was grabbed from behind, lifted right off the floor by two huge hands around over his neck. The spear dropped and his back arched in painfully, stealing his breath and sight. He kicked, trying to find leverage on the hands holding him, but he was given no chance to react. Laufey threw him back down into the floor, squeezing his neck impossibly tight.

That was when Loki felt it—the change. His hands were turning blue and with each second passed his sight grew better until he could see into the darkest corners of the room. His nose was blue, he saw through his water eyes.

Then his attacker leaned over him. Laufey. And he smiled wickedly.

"You are home now."

The pressure tightened to a point Loki was making pathetic sounds, thinking only that he was going to die as a Jotun, and die by the hands of one. By his dead father. Perhaps this was his father's realm where he chose to wait for him. Maybe Odin sent him here on purpose.

_CRACK_

The squeezing stopped.

_**CRACK** _

Loki was dropped, discarded as Laufey got up to face the door.

_**CRACK!** _

It was difficult to see from his angle, especially through his tears and lack of oxygen, but something was hacking down the door. Something big. Something powerful.

The crying of the little monsters reappeared alone with the backdrop of heavy foot steps, but the crying was gurgled and weak, and the steps were coming closer. Heavy, solid, in tempo. _Echoing_.

Then Laufey was growling, loud and menacing. An obscured moment passed in which made it clear there was a physical confrontation, flesh colliding and steel screeching. But only when something landed besides Loki did he shoot into action, moving away on instinct.

He didn't get far before someone grabbed his ankle, lifting it high with ease and dragging him away towards the door. Loki gasped and kicked, finally able to focus enough to recognise the same man from before. The man with the metal helmet. His Jotun eyes adapted to the dark better than he could ever admit, but it only frightened him further to see the details. He struggled, trying the impossible feat of grabbing hold of the ground.

His struggling ceased when he caught site of his blood father, his corpse hacked open grotesquely across the chest. He lay in a heap, eyes now black rather than the red of a Jotun. There was no blood, nothing to show that life was just extinguished. He could have been lying there for days, pallid and dry. Perhaps he had. Perhaps Loki was just stuck in his own insanity.

The image of Laufey soon disappeared, taken over by the presence of the little goblin monstrosities. But unlike before they were all in messy clumps on the floor, rasping weakling as they combined into inseparable mounds of disgusting slime. Loki realised in disgust he was being dragged through them as if he were a secondary knife, his hair and clothing acting as a reluctant cloth. It brought him back to the fact that he was _being dragged away_. He made a strangled sound, nearly upside down, and kicked his free leg into the giant's back.

His resistance must have been unexpected. The man grunted in surprise and dropped him, staggering forward heavily at the shift of weight. Loki hurried to his feet, slipping in the black mess but determined to get away. He wasn't sure if heading back to his room was a good idea, he didn't want to lead this thing back to his sanctuary.

Escape was futile, he realised, when the flat side of giant blade connected with his ankles in one clean swipe, a mere second in time to stop his escape. He would be too fast for this thing to chase, it couldn't afford a chase.

The floor was unforgiving to his weak vessel, he felt the fall right into the centre of his bones. The mush around him was still wailing, and suddenly he wanted to join them, tired and defeated. His entire body jostled as the man latched back onto his ankle, pulling him back up until his knee hooked over his shoulder, and he was left dangling behind him, fingers trailing the floor.

 _So be it_ , Loki thought, falling limp. He didn't manage to retrieve the spear, but he did manage to find his Death. And what an odd form it came in. Loki lifted his head weakly, trying to see beneath the helmet, but the thick neck disappeared into blackness, no head to be seen. So Loki flopped back down, and succumbed to his own darkness.

**XxXx**

When Loki awoke it was to pain sudden. He did so with a gasp and a twitch, his ribs and left cheek aching most fiercely. It was tempting to keep his eyes closed and pretend he was nothing but dirt, but there was an overwhelming feeling of being watched assaulting him. And it only heightened when he heard the screech that colossal knife against the floor. It forced him to open his eyes and look behind him, to where the man stood in all his intimidating glory.

He was huge. It was the first thing Loki could acknowledge in words. Tall and broad, veined and muscular, almost abnormally so. Like the mishap spawn of an Aesir and a Jotun. His skin was pale, full of blemishes and discoloured veins. Sickly, like one filled with poisoned…or the influences of evil. His hands were large and hard looking— _unforgiving_. He was smeared in blood—red blood, brown blood, old black blood, from booted feet up to his shielded head. But his face, where was his face? Loki didn't know if he wanted to see this monster's face, he was almost afraid of what he would find. A demon, an animal or beast? Norns forbid, a familiar face…? …What if it was Thor?

Tears started to stream at the thought and Loki sobbed, shaking his head in denial. He could take the others, but not Thor, not that bastard…not Thor. Not here.

Sobbing, Loki turned back. He had been dropped down and that was the cause of the sudden pain, he realised. He was on his front now, his skin pink once more, and started to crawl away. He needed a place to hide, but when he looked around he sobbed in defeat—he was in his room. The man knew where he hid, he had no safety now.

Still he tried to crawl away, finding more aches as he did, but he didn't get far. His breath escaped him in a sharp _whoosh_ as something fell across his back, knocking out his elbows and down his chin. He cried out, his shoulder bones protesting the sudden collision and his ribs the rest. He started to pant again, panicked, and looked over his shoulder to see the great knife across his back, pinning him down. And he couldn't get back up.

"Wh-what is this?!" he yelled, thrashing angrily beneath the weapon. But no matter how much force he exerted or which way he squirmed the bloody thing did not budge, it was worlds too heavy. He might as well have been pinned by Mjolnir—

Loki stilled then, staring forward in horror as it dawned on him.

The last time he had been with Thor they had been on the bridge, destroying it, along with their _brotherly_ bond. Thor had pinned him down with Mjolnir, and she deemed him unworthy to lift her. Was the same thing happening here? That didn't make sense, but then why would he make that connection? How could he _not_ be worthy enough to lift such a nightmarish blade? Wouldn't that be what he was good at? What was this even in aid of, to torment him with his unworthiness? His weakness?

"Why don't you just kill me and be done with it?" Loki asked, his voice thick, exasperated.

To his utter surprise, the man grunted in response, and thudded around him until he was out of sight, making him fret of the unknown. He had the sudden fleeting fears of the man crushing his feet or breaking his legs, and started struggling again to see what was happening.

"Who are you?!"

This time he got no answer, save for added pressure on his back. His ribs felt like they would crack at any second, robbing him of his voice and breath, and when it finally let up he focused enough to realise there was a violent tugging on the waist of his trousers.

_No_

The man was not stalling or playing coy, squeezing down Loki's flesh to get a better grip as he started tearing away his last bit of pathetic protection, and revealing his most vulnerable state. He started kicking his legs, serving only to tear his clothing and aid the monster.

He felt the hard floor scrap against the bare flesh of his thighs, and then against his genitals as his underwear was ripped off as well. He started to sweat, his entire body burning in a way he had never felt before. Jotuns did not do well with heat, so it was no surprise when the burning started to make him feel sick.

Tired, shaking and terrified, Loki let out a strangled scream as massive hands took hold of his inner thighs, parting them to make way for his soon to be rapist.

"STOP IT! STOP IT!" He screamed, making his throat hoarse as he kicked and exerted himself. But the man above him replied with a warning grunt, forcing open his knees to jam his fingers where only Loki himself had done before. He suffered cold shivers at the blunt contact against his small furrowed hole, the feeling clashing painfully with the heat burning in him.

So he was going to be made ergi. No longer was he just to be made fun of for his smooth skin or his petite form or his effeminate practice of magic, he was going to be violated too.

"STOP!"

But he was ignored. He kept struggling until the last possible moment, desperate and angry and despaired all at once. The blunt head of the monster pressed against his entrance, neither hot nor cold to his fluctuating body. Firm and unrelenting the man pushed, taking assertive hold on his hips once he was sheathed, clearly determined to see this through. His fingers were long and solid, perfect for wielding that knife of his, and holding down his victims should he desire torment of another kind. Perhaps _this_ would be his death, Loki wondered wildly, he would die here like a screaming whore, then be banished to the harem upstairs with the other whores to haunt alongside them. His masculinity had always been questioned, he had always been taunted, but he had always ignored it.

This could not be ignored.

Painful inch after painful inch was pushed inside him, tearing blood and screams from either end of his body. He kept chanting _no no no_ but it fell on deaf ears. His body was stiff and tight, worsening the pain as his channel had no choice but to comply. His feet were still with protected, and he was grateful for he was able to kick the toe of his boots into the floor, trying to wrap his mind around the assault, doing the same with his fists.

Soon he was fully claimed, and together they let out a loud noise in union. Loki choked, gasping for breath around the thickness inside him, barely hearing the haunting groan from his attacker. His own fingers felt nothing like this, they could never reach the point that was being filled now, the feeling was as foreign as it was horrid—for the pain was thrumming away. There was a heartbeat around his entrance, his own he presumed, but the more he focused on it the more the pain dissolved. But what he didn't notice was the blue spreading across his body, his eyes falling shut.

Then the man moved back and jerked into him, and he moaned involuntarily. His eyes shot open against his will, and he moaned again in confusion at the sudden brightness of the room. He was thrust into again, jerking his body even beneath the knife, and it brought to attention his hands—they were blue again.

"No…" he rasped weakly, wanting to scrape his skin against the floor until it peeled off. He looked around, his Jotun eyes seeing better in the dark, and yet he wished he was blind. What use was it being a Jotun when he wasn't even a real Jotun? He was undersized and pathetic and prey. He'd be better of dying. And yet, it appeared his punishment to that was _not_ dying, but living in his nightmares. Nightmares that had a conscious, a very wicked one at that.

With fat tears falling Loki angled his face to the side so his neck hurt less and shut his eyes so he didn't have to see anything, trying to go as limp as possible until the giant finished. His hole was burning around the thick shaft now sawing into him, but it wasn't completely unpleasant. There was a desire growing deep inside his belly, and with disgust he knew it was a result of his Jotun heritage. Jotuns were ergi, one sexed in the form of a man, it was only logical why he had developed a desire toward males, but the mating habits of the Jotuns weren't something an Asgardian prince should concern himself with. But now he was stuck beneath this mountain of a man being fucked and unable to predict or control how his Jotun body was reacting.

He did not harden, nor did he plan to spill, but there was an odd satisfaction in having someone between his legs, fucking into him in a hard steady rhythm. The slap of their skin was most pleasing, sending dirty thrills across his back and into his bones. He could predict the rhythm, it did not change once, and it helped him sort out his breathing until he was sure he wouldn't pass out from suffocation. The knife across his back rocked ever so lightly as he was thrust into, taunting him with an impossible escape.

But why escape? This was not his world, there was no where to escape to. He would be kept here, reminded of his Jotun self, reminded of his differences, reminded of his loneliness, reminded of his worthlessness. A man held down and made ergi is perhaps even more shameful than a man offering himself to be made ergi. Asgard would laugh at him, they would use it as proof against him, reasons to hold him down and shame him.

All these thoughts hurt, and he found they hurt more than his violation. If he had to choose between this place than going back _home_ , perhaps this was the kinder option.

Sooner than Loki dared hope he recognised the tempo of one approaching an orgasm. It felt sudden, but he wasn't going to argue, his first time being taken hadn't been exactly gentle and he was sore and miserable. His gut clenched in impatience, making them both groan, and he fought off the bizarre dark excitement sparking in the back of his mind. Perhaps he was finally going crazy. The man behind him made little noise other than the occasionally grunting, Loki couldn't even hear his breathing, whereas he sounded like a dog. It was more reason to believe he was already dead, stuck in some demented realm between realms where logic was twisted and warped.

When the giant climaxed, Loki did not expect him to be able to produce seed. He felt the pressure in his gut, filling him, but once again the temperature was lost to him. The man shifted behind him, releasing one hip, then the knife lifted from his back, and he sucked in a desperate huge breath. The knife fell besides him with a deafening _CLANG_ , making him flinch into the floor. A heavy hand settled across his back, fingers so large they stretched over his form, and while it was meant to restrain, Loki had already submitted.

He sniffled into the floor, full of snot and tears, and now the cum leaking out of him. His feet had long stilled, his heels leaning out, his hips only held up by the giant's grasp. Then the cock was pulled from him, an agonising moment, then he was left to flop down wetly in the pile of fluids. The man got up, which sounded difficult, Loki would have laughed had this not actually happened, and left him sprawled open, used, and exhausted.

Loki lay still from then on, staring off with his red eyes as the giant moved around behind him. He didn't try to look, and he didn't flinch when the man leaned over besides him to retrieve his knife. But this time he gave into the urge, and glanced up at the bit of visible darkness beneath the bloody splattered pyramid head. Not even his Jotun eyes could see into that darkness, it was obviously not a physical darkness, but a spiritual one.

An odd moment passed where they stared at one another, but it was Loki that broke it, feeling brave after enduring what he had.

"Is it done?" he asked, _croaked_ , hoping to see that knife swing for his neck.

But the man just stared until he felt irritable, then he turned, and started to walk away, dragging with him his beloved weapon. Loki put his head down, and closed his eyes, shedding a last tear, for this wasn't going to be his last hour in this Hel.

**XxXxXxXx**

"Loki."

Loki stirred.

"Loki, please,"

"Loki,"

The voice was close.

"Loki I need you please."

"Wake up,"

Loki begged sleep to conquer.

" _Brother…_ "

Loki shot up with a gasp, slapping at his ear. It tingled, as if someone had spoke straight into it. A shiver echoed down his spine, making his hair stand. He looked around, panicked, but he was alone. Alone, back to his Aesir form, and _sore_. Under no immediate threat other than losing his mind, Loki fought his body upright and around so he rested on his palms and lower back, doing so to be able to relieve his backside of the pressure, and gander at the copious amounts of black crusted and matted between his still very bare legs.

He let out a sound of distress, not knowing where to start. His pants a few steps away, strewn like rubbish, torn in unusable ways. Loki hesitated for a while, unsure of what to do, or whether he should stay where he was, or try jump out the window and aim for a sharp landing. Eventually he shambled up to his feet and limped to the bed, leaning on the wooden post as his fingers strayed to where he was leaking. Part of him hoped it was blood, his own red lively blood, but he was horribly disappointed and disgusted to find he was leaking the black slosh he had being seen everywhere. His stomach churned at the memory of how and who deposited it in him, and looked warily at the door. It was closed, in one piece, and—

The spear. It was leaning against the door.

Encouraged, Loki hurried to retrieve it, and sighed in relief at the solid weight in his hands. He automatically felt better with it. He looked around again, for that man, _Red Pyramid_ he dubbed, and wondered why in the heavens he brought this to him. It had to be him, Loki explicitly remembered leaving it behind. It had been obvious he wanted it, and here it was. What was this, a reward? A gift? Had he passed some test and awarded a weapon? But with a weapon he could try to fight that pyramided monster if he ever saw him again, why go through the trouble of equipping him with a weapon? It made no sense, but Loki was tired of trying to find sense.

He kept the spear close as he cleaned himself, or at least _tried_ to, scratching off the black release and pulling fresh clothing from his cupboards. Only his cupboards were empty, like the pages of his books. It was a form of punishment, he knew, for he had always treasured his books and smart clothing. In the end he picked up his ruined pants and pulled them on, ripping it further here and there, and tied the ends. There was enough fabric to cover him modestly, but they would count as a skirt now, yet another hit at his pride.

"Loki."

Loki swirled around at the voice, and this time recognised.

"…Thor?"

"Brother…help me."

Loki held the spear tightly, ready to use it, but so far nothing could get in here. No one but Red Pyramid…

" _Loki_."

"Where…?" Loki didn't want to ask, he didn't want to know, he didn't want to care. It was thanks to Thor he was here, him and his father, he didn't want to see either of them again.

Then Thor screamed, from everywhere at once, so inhumanly and pained that Loki bolted to the door, hating himself for giving in. But when he opened the door he saw that it was the time when the Darkness was most active, and most dangerous.

"LOKI!"

It came from the right, so Loki followed. He ignored the fear of what monster could be lurking around each corner, trying to remind himself that he was just as good a warrior as Thor, and followed the echoing of Thor's voice. Left right, up down, this way and that, but he never could reach him, and each scream was more horrific than the last.

"Thor!" he called, turning indecisively on the spot.

Then everything was silent.

Ring

RING

_RING_

"AH!" Loki dropped to one knee, spear clattering away as he covered his ears from the high pitched ringing. It twisted his eardrums, shooting bolts of pain through his head until it felt like it would explode.

Then everything was silent.

"You never could keep up little brother."

Loki panted from the floor, deeply, slowly.

"Always one step behind me, never my equal."

_No please shut up_ _**shut up** _

"Never as _good_ as me."

Loki curled into a ball besides the spear, covering his ears even harder. _Go away just leave me alone_

"Adopted runt."

"Abandoned runt."

"Unwanted runt."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"YOU'RE MINE!" Thor roared, appearing from the dark and crashing down onto him, pulling him from his ball. Loki screeched, fighting him off, but he wasn't himself. He hadn't been himself since he got here.

"You think you were stolen?" Thor sneered into his face, straddling his body, "You were _saved_. Your father didn't want you, so _my_ father took pity on you. _Saved_ you. And bestowed upon you a glorious purpose, brother. To fulfil with me. Beneath me…"

One of Thor's realistic hands slid beneath Loki's make-shift skirt, squeezing his thighs. Loki choked and fought renewed, feeling a surge of anger at the apparition.

"You always knew it though, didn't you? Following me like a loyal little lamb, always looking for approval…for acknowledgement…You knew your place." Thor trailed his nose down Loki's neck, but it was the lack of a breath that helped remind Loki this wasn't real. Thor would never say these things, he was too soft hearted a fool, too kind and sentimental. This was a product of his twisted memories, it was the Darkness.

"Well now I see you, brother," Thor leaned back a little to look at him, his form convincing, "and I'm going to acknowledge you." He ended his sentence by tugging on Loki's tunic, making his _acknowledgment_ clear.

"Fuck you," Loki spat. He stuck a hand in Thor's face to distract him, then reached out with the other for his spear. Relief shot through him when he made contact, and he swung it at Thor's head. It was an odd angle, not right enough to cause damage but enough to knock Thor off. He rolled away as Thor hit the floor, and sprung up to his feet, ready to fight.

"Silly little lamb," Thor admonished as he got up.

Loki was about to spit back a nasty retort when four hands grabbed onto his arms, pulling him back and kicking his knees in. He lost hold of his spear, hearing with a heavy heart as it met the floor.

"Tasty." Volstagg said from his right.

"Sturdy." Hogan said from his left.

" _Ripe_." Fandral said from behind him, hands on his hips, fingers dipping down into his pelvis.

"I should have killed you," Loki breathed, on his knees, staring off with wet eyes, "I should have killed all of you. Let you die on Jötunheimr."

"Spoken like a true frost giant." Thor snorted. "You think us vile? You're the one with the black soul. Look around." He gestured to the dark walls, heavy with blood and death and _hate_. "This is you. Inside."

"Who made me like this?!" Loki screamed with new vigour, pulling at the many hands despite his confusion.

"It has always been inside you. And soon it will come out, and you will see it for yourself."

Loki hit the ground before he knew what was happening, his head cracking painfully on the floor. The men were laughing around him as if he was some meagre joke at the dinner table, their voices beginning to echo as his head swam.

Why had he come out here? He shouldn't have. He should have ignored Thor's screaming. He shouldn't have given in, he shouldn't have been so…

…so weak

He didn't want to be weak…he didn't…he wanted to be strong. He was almost strong. Almost. He killed Laufey. He almost annihilated Jötunheimr. He kept Asgard calm all the while. He even survived this whole time in this nightmare. He lived his entire life keeping his head up even when it was pushed down. He was strong, wasn't he?

Yes…he _could_ be strong. He was strong when he set aside his sentiment. He could do that again. He was best when he was bad, playing tricks, lying, causing mischief…maybe…maybe his soul _was_ black.

Maybe it was time to accept that.

He would never be the golden son Odin wants. He would never be _good_ , or respectable, or admired.

But he could be feared, and revered, and _bad_.

Loki pushed up to his knees, the laughter never stopping. He wished he had that big knife right now, it would be more satisfying a—

Red Pyramid.

"…I need you."

The laughter stopped. Thor and the Warriors Three stepped forward in perfect sync, titling their heads in an identical manner, but only Thor spoke. "What did the lamb say?"

Their forms started shifting and the light from the hallways started flickering, swapping between their forms that Loki knew, and a grotesque mirror image only his demented mind could conjure.

"I need you," he begged into the floor, focusing all his energies into calling the fiend for help. Twice Red Pyramid had come to his aid and saved him from the Darkness, he would come again. Because Loki needed him. He needed his dark side.

"HELP ME…!"

_CLANG_

Loki sucked in an excited, terrified breath. The four men froze.

_Thud thud clang_

Loki didn't dare look up, his fears telling him to run, his curiosity telling him to stay.

_THUD THUD_

**CLANG**

"… _Please_..."

His last plea seemed to seal the deal. He heard the swing of the blade, and the delightful sound of it colliding with the wall. The monstrous clones of his once friends ducked, growling like rabid wolves. Animals…they had always been such base animals, eating, fucking, fighting…and they had the nerve to think _him_ one…

Loki bolted, grabbing his lost spear, and rose up like an angry wave. He chose the closest target, he couldn't tell them apart anymore, and swung his blade with precision. The effort was enough, and he severed its head. The body fell instantly, shaking like one having a seizer and oozing black filth.

Patience and sentiment gone, he turned to the next target, who targeted him in return. Loki used all his anger, screaming over their growling as he sliced and kicked, taking barely moments longer to decapitate this once. He paused for breath as the head hit the floor, then the body, and inhaled through his nose sharply as he watched Red Pyramid slice one open, rotting inners splashing out.

On a whim he didn't bother to understand, Loki dashed forward and distracted the last one as it made to attack the Great Knife wielder. The monster roared as he stabbed its back twice in quick succession. He was successful and the mountain of grey muscle turned his way, its face like all the others. But then it opened its mouth, and released Thor's voice.

"Brother."

"I am not your BROTHER!" Loki screamed, and swung his blade. But the creature ducked, chuckling darkly at his anger. He screamed again with his next attack, just so full of _anger_! His rage began to blind him, and he kept missing, until his way was blocked. Blocked by the pyramid headed man.

The man entered their circle with a wide arc of his knife, cutting off monster-Thor's feet, then lifted him from the floor by the hair with one great hand.

Loki stared, holding his spear close as monster-Thor struggled, oozing out on the floor.

Red Pyramid jerked the monster toward him, and grunted.

Loki blinked, and did the only thing that could be expected (he hoped). He swung the blade of his spear wide, slicing off the beast's head completely. Red Pyramid swayed back from the loss of weight, looked at the head for a moment before dropping it besides the body with disinterest. The giant then adjusted his knife, and turned his concealed gaze to Loki.

Now that the peak of battle and victory had ebbed, Loki shrunk. Red Pyramid came for him, to his aid, like he needed, but he also violated him, and Loki couldn't understand the motive behind either of them. And yet there wasn't bone-chilling fear. He was still alive— _protected_ by this man, this…

"…Who are you?" he whispered, desperately wishing he could see through the helmet.

Red Pyramid just stood and stared at him, as if waiting for something.

Loki swallowed irritably, still buzzing with aftermath jitters and _needing_ something to happen, develop, change! He wanted answers! This had to be the longest (and he still hadn't made any progress on how time passed here) he had ever gone while being ignorant to something he wanted to know about. He was good—very good—at finding out things. It was about fucking time he learned something here!

"What is this place? Answer me!" he commanded. It felt right, and he gleamed when the giant straightened.

But he said nothing, only raised a finger and pointed at Loki.

Loki frowned, letting the spear hang in one hand. "I don't understand."

" _This is you. Inside._ " Thor had said…

"…Why are you… _helping_ me?" Saying ' _protecting_ ' sounded a bit presumptuous, but he had a feel the man wasn't a man of many words to care for context. Still, he waited desperately for some response. All he got was a grunt and the man turning his back on him.

"Hey! Look at me!" Loki barked, hurrying forward stupidly as if the man could outrun him. He jumped back when the man turned back to him, tilting his head in a humorous manner as if annoyed, making Loki's face burn. "I demand to know."

Red Pyramid turned and trudged away.

Exhaling through his nose, Loki looked around at the bodies around him, hoping they didn't somehow reanimate. Now with the battle over, exhaustion hit him once more, and he wanted to slump down and fall asleep for the next century.

When Loki returned to his room he was disturbed to find Red Pyramid there, lingering across the room and doing nothing. He made no move when Loki idled in, testing the waters.

"…Why are you here?"

This time Loki received an answer, in the form of bloody words oozing from the tapestry on the walls.

_Waiting_

Loki shifted foot to foot, wishing he had the physical strength to rid the monster from his room. "…For what?"

_Rebirth_

"…How do I leave this place?"

_Soon_

That wasn't comforting in the least, he was too tired for riddles. Loki's posture dropped and he went to the bed, keeping watch from the corner of his eye. But the man did not approach, nothing came through the doors, and Loki fell into a restless sleep.

**XxXx**

_PAIN_

Loki awoke to an excruciation attack of abdominal pain. His mind was dazed couldn't understand what was happening as he curled forward into himself, mouth open in agony as his body flared, eyes bulging. Bile rose up his throat as his stomach pumped, being sick purely from the onslaught of inhumane pain. It felt as if there was a knife wedged inside his gut forcing its way through his inners and up into his throat, slicing everything in its path. The pain quickly brought his consciousness to life, and he panicked helplessly from the unknown source.

Why was this happening? What had happened while he slept? _Why was any of this happening?!_

Inhaling a huge gulp of air he managed to focus himself enough to know that he was not being attacked by anyone or anything. He was alone on his bed where he had fallen asleep, and the pain was purely internal—but that only made it more terrifying. His breath escaped him like all his hopes and dreams as another ripple tore through him, and this time he let out a scream, curling further into himself so his knees met his belly.

His very swollen hard belly.

Shaking violently, Loki squeezed him limbs in, unable to access proper motor functions as pain crippled him. His stomach was huge, round and _moving_. Each movement brought forth nerve-crushing pain unlike he had ever experienced before, blinding him every few moments before he managed to inhale. He could do little other than make distressed noises as he felt something moving inside him, destroying his inners.

A particularly punishing bolt hit him and he screamed again. He gasped in as much air as he could, desperate to try do _something_ before he was torn apart, then someone grabbed his ankle and pulled, dislodging him. He was dragged down the bed so his body straightened out. It hurt, seizing his body and mind for a few seconds. But before he could curl back in on himself in an instinctual desire to stop the pain a heavy hand flattened across his chest with the very clear intention of holding him down.

 _No_! It hurt even more this way, the heavy pressure in his gut was going to (at the very least) suffocate him if he wasn't on his side!

Loki fought against the person holding him down but he was no match, crippled and exhausted. He felt as if he was on his last strings, and perhaps he was. Loki sucked in short rapid breaths as he struggled to stay awake, wanting both to get rid of the problem inside him and just die already. He couldn't understand what the problem was, not until his makeshift-skirt was ripped off and his thighs shoved apart, followed by a thick finger deep into his body.

Then like something broke inside him—surprisingly without a new burst of pain—liquid seeped out of him, and whatever was inside him _dropped_ in a way that made it clear _how_ he was going to be rid of the problem. It was after the drop that the pain came, but he couldn't bear to acknowledge what was happening.

Red Pyramid was above him, pulling his body this way and that as if he was possibly able to help. There was nothing Loki could do against his might other than scream when the brute started pushing on his belly. All previous pain felt like a mild sting, he was certain his inners were torn and ruined. His backside was covered in what he supposed was blood, soaking the bed and the monsters hands. Fleetingly Loki hoped he would drop dead at any second, but each breath he drew made death seem miles away.

The more he struggled against what Red Pyramid wanted the more the moment and pain stretched, and the more the thing inside him grew restless. Eventually, simply to avoid being alive to experience something ripping its way through his belly, he started pushing. He held onto the large arm over him, working with the pressure it put on his stomach. He dug his nails into its flesh, producing no reaction even as he tore through, and _pushed_ with all his might.

And the harder he pushed, the bluer he became.

The harder he pushed, the less he could breathe.

The harder he pushed, the more he shook.

The harder he pushed, the further he sunk.

Death was close, he could tell. He wanted to beckoned it.

Deafened by his own screaming and the pounding in his ears Loki was unaware of the progress he was making, his face turning navy as he held his breath, pushing constantly until the veins in his neck popped one by one. His channel stretched to its capacity, aided by his Jotun form, condemned by his Jotun form…

Yes, death was approaching, Loki could feel it in the way his heart became erratic. He almost wanted to fight it, but the monster pushing out of his body was taking his life force with it, and he couldn't hold on. His hands were locked, ironically, dug into Red Pyramid's arm as he helped one last time, pushing his spawn out. Loki gasped weakly like an injured rabbit, looking up with wet eyes at his attacker, his protector. Red Pyramid was focused on what was going on between his legs, constantly pushing them apart as Loki's limbs failed him. He almost felt betrayed, used, but this was for the best. He would die and be rid of this world.

The moment Loki let go of the fight, the child breached into their world. A sharp breath escape Loki as it slid out, and it was the last breath he had.

The room went still that moment, and then it was pierced by a high pitched wailing. Red Pyramid shook of Loki's lax grip in favour of reaching for the babe crying between his legs. It was rather large and blue and angry, shaking its fists, a green energy following them in a haze of impatient magic. He lifted it curiously, watching the blue of skin slowly fade away, leaving behind pink cheeks and black hair, and a set of green wet eyes.

The green did not stay long though, for they faded away much like the blue skin did, leaving behind a sparkling blue in its place.

"Is he ready, master?" The Other asked, watching intently as his sadistic master ended his sick little game.

Thanos smirked, smoothing a hand over Loki's sweaty forehead as he worked the Mind Gem through him, washing away what wasn't needed, and replacing it with what he would need to succeed. Replacing it with a king.

"He is ready to lead."

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXx**

**Author's Note:**

> my regret is that this lacks as much porn as I usually write sorry k. HAPPY HALLOWEEEE _EEEEE_ _ **EEEEEEN**_


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